High Society Sabotage. Kathleen Long
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the sight of Kyle sprawled on a section of rock just below her. The bike, however, was nowhere to be found.
“Kyle!”
Sara yelled his name when she spotted movement in his arms and legs. To her amazement, he pulled himself into a sitting position, each move an obvious struggle.
“You’re all right?” He spat out the words as he tipped his face toward her, pulling off his helmet as he did so.
The arrogance so prevalent in his expression just minutes earlier was gone. Instead, he searched her face, sincere concern plastered across his features.
Sara nodded, surprised by the absence of any hint of self-awareness on his part.
“Are you hurt badly?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll live.”
She dropped onto her belly, reaching for him. “Give me your hands.”
Kyle gave her one hand while he used the other to pull himself up the jagged face of the section of mountain.
Sara pulled with all her might, being careful to let him set the pace. When he cleared the top, he dropped onto his side, wincing in pain. His shirt had been ripped and blood seeped through the white fabric in several spots.
She reached for him, but caught herself at the last moment, deciding against the move. “We have to get you help.”
He shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “We have to get back. Get you checked out.”
“I’m all right. A bit battered, but nothing’s broken.”
He gave his head another shake. “We still need to get you cleaned up.”
Sara glanced up and down the road. They’d encountered no other vehicle during their trip except the SUV. “Any ideas?”
Kyle pulled off his boot and reached inside, pressing something along the seam.
“What are you doing?”
He lifted his pale gaze to hers and gave her a weak smile. “Automatic tracking signal.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” She shook her head, letting a laugh of relief slide between her lips.
He shot her a wink. “Never underestimate the power of technology.”
KYLE LEANED into the stream of steaming water pouring from the showerhead, his palms splayed against the cool tile. He’d been lucky. Bumped and bruised and he’d no doubt feel much worse in the morning, but he’d survived. That was a whole lot more than he could say for his bike.
He’d dropped Sara at her home and sent her car over with one of TCM’s drivers. His personal physician had followed close behind.
Dr. Franklin had checked in a short while ago to let Kyle know Ms. Montgomery would be just fine.
Kyle winced as the water stung his still raw wounds. He couldn’t believe how close they’d both come to dying.
Who had been behind the wheel of the SUV? And had the driver’s actions been done out of sport, or out of malice? If malice, who was the target? Surely not Sara. They must have been after him, but why?
He hadn’t planned to go up into the mountains, so if the attack had been made purposefully, he and Sara had been followed from the time they’d left the party. No one but the two of them knew where they had been headed.
Kyle thought of the alleged memo bearing his signature and the call he’d placed to Dwayne. Surely today’s accident had nothing to do with his demand for an explanation, did it?
He shook his head.
Pure coincidence. Though, he’d never been a fan of coincidence.
He twisted off the water and reached for a towel. After he’d dabbed at his wounds and anchored the towel snuggly around his waist, he padded barefoot to his personal office.
Here, he could access the TCM computers twenty-four hours a day. No one knew of his setup, not even his stepfather.
The one perk of his bad-boy reputation was the fact that everyone had forgotten he actually had a brain beneath his well-styled hair.
He stopped as he passed through the kitchen to snag a tall, cold beer from the fridge. He deserved a drink—or several—after today’s events.
Kyle popped the cap and took a long pull. Even though he’d literally fallen off a cliff and had had one of the worst days of his life, he couldn’t avoid the way he’d felt since the moment he first met Sara Montgomery.
Shaking her hand.
Debating land issues.
The feel of her slender shoulders beneath his touch.
His stomach tightened and he chastised himself as he dropped into his leather desk chair. He’d never let a woman get to him before, so what made this one different?
For one, she didn’t hesitate to argue with him.
He smiled. Now there was something new.
Typically, the women he met were so eager to please in order to get their claws into him that they’d agree with most anything he said.
Kyle fired up the computer and leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the handmade wooden desk. He took another long taste of his beer, staring out into the night sky. The Denver skyline twinkled in the distance.
When his architect had suggested a full glass wall in the office, Kyle had thought the man a bit mad, but every night when he sat in this very spot, he knew he’d been wrong.
The man had been a genius.
Something about the view, the expanse of land and sky, the enormity of it all, kept Kyle grounded. The sight was a constant reminder of who he was—and how small he was—in the grand scheme of things.
His father would have loved this view.
Kyle’s gut twisted. He’d never known his dad after his mother had taken Kyle back to the States as a kid. When he and Robert Prescott had reconnected a few short years ago, the relationship had been strained, but there’d been a bond that Kyle had never felt with his stepfather.
Stephen Turner was a good man, but a chasm of awkwardness existed between them that Kyle could never quite bridge.
His father had been another matter altogether. Robert Prescott had been bigger than life, at least in Kyle’s eyes. When his plane had gone down on a trip to Spain, Kyle’s playboy antics had spiraled out of control. And he’d let them.
Why not?
He had no reason to do anything else.
Robert’s wife, Evangeline, had taken over Prescott Personal Securities with an icy resolve. Matter of fact, he’d never so much as seen his stepmother flinch after his father’s death. For all he knew, she was secretly happy to find herself in the position of boss.
Marriage.
He took another drink and shook his head.
Based on what Kyle had seen, he was the smart one. Love ’em and leave ’em. That way no one stuck around long enough to get hurt, or produce offspring.
The computer blinked the entry screen for his pass code and he dropped his feet to the floor, pulling the chair close to the desk.
He had work to do.
He typed in his code and waited for the TCM welcome screen to appear.
Kyle had decided not to wait for Dwayne Johnson to return his call. There was no time like the present to search the files in case he’d “signed” more than one memo in absentia.
If someone had used his electronic signature, Kyle had every intention of finding out who…and why.
SARA BYPASSED the cubicles inside the Prescott Personal Securities